


Life is Not a Song

by ZoeSong



Series: Always a Stark [17]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, POV Bran Stark, POV Brienne of Tarth, POV Sandor Clegane, POV Sansa Stark, Sandor and the Dragon, Sansa and the Dragon, TV Tropes, Tragic Romance, Warg Bran Stark, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19790779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSong/pseuds/ZoeSong
Summary: After destroying King’s Landing, Daenerys heads to Winterfell to punish Sansa for betraying her. Sansa prepares for the worst, but Sandor has other ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swimmingfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/gifts).



> ~~
> 
> I’m not happy about the direction the show went, but since it did, this happened in my head. It starts just after the events of episode 805. Show canon with these exceptions: Sandor does not go south to kill his brother, Arya goes south to fight alongside Jon, Qhono (Dany’s Dothraki Bloodrider) survives the battle at Winterfell, and Ser Jaime does not go south to be with Cersei. Oh, and that conversation between Sandor and Sansa in episode 804 was worded much differently. Also, I picture Sandor here as being Rory McCann in his mid-thirties, despite the use of his photos in the picset. 
> 
> No apologies for any tropes that appear here; they are fully intentional.
> 
> Many thanks to Swimmingfox for her super-power beta skills which have definitely improved this story! Any typos in this final draft are my own fault. 
> 
> While this is part of my "Always a Stark" collection, it is a stand-alone story.
> 
> ~~

~~

[](https://imgur.com/5rw2Cu6)  
_Photo lower right by[ofhouseadama](https://ofhouseadama.tumblr.com//) Thanks!_

~~

Sansa climbed the long staircase to Bran’s room. Sam had called for her and the others because Bran had had a disturbing vision. Behind her were Brienne, Sandor Clegane, and Maester Wolkan.

Bran came out of his trance and stared at Sansa for so long that she was starting to feel uncomfortable. “What is it, Bran?”

“She’s destroyed King’s Landing.”

“Cersei?” Sansa’s heart was heavy. Jon and Arya were both fighting there.

“Daenerys.”

There were several gasps around the room. Sam looked alarmed and prodded, “Was the fighting so very fierce as that?”

“No. She and her dragon had destroyed the Iron Fleet and the gates to King’s Landing. Her – and our – armies had entered the city and fought Cersei’s troops to a standstill. The dragon destroyed all the scorpions that could have threatened him, and the troops had surrendered. And yet Daenerys burned the city anyway.”

“Why would she do that?” Brienne was aghast.

Bran’s expression didn’t change. “The people didn’t open the gates and welcome her with open arms. So she will rule by fear. She will destroy all her enemies the same way. And now she is on her way here.” Bran turned his head slightly towards his sister. “Sansa, she is coming for you.”

Sansa took a step back, a wave of dread pouring over her. She heard, as though she was underwater, the voices of the others as they reacted with gasps and exclamations. 

“Why? Why Lady Sansa?” Brienne’s voice was sharp with outrage. 

Bran said calmly, “Because she opposed her.”

Brienne turned to Sansa. “But you hosted her here – the queen sat at the head table. Your brother made an alliance with her.”

Sansa swallowed, steadied herself, and whispered, “I opposed her, Brienne.” Tightening her hands at her waist to prevent them from shaking, she said firmly, “She has reason to hate me.” Looking at Bran, she forced her voice to stay calm. “Jon and Arya? Has she killed them?”

“No, they are with the Northern army outside the city. They are setting up refugee camps for the survivors.”

Sansa wanted to weep with relief, but fought for self-control, and merely nodded. “Good.” Then she turned to the others. “We must evacuate Winterfell – and Winter Town, too, I think.”

Bran said quietly, “She will destroy it all.”

“How much t-time do we have?” Maester Wolkan’s voice shook.

“She’s on her way now – she could be here as soon as tomorrow morning.”

Sansa felt the sense of urgency rise in the room. “Then we must hasten. Send runners to Winter Town and ravens to the other houses to warn them. And to Castle Black. Our people should leave quickly to put as much distance between themselves and Winterfell as possible.”

“A portion of the garrison will stay behind to guard Winterfell.” Sandor’s voice resonated in the room.

Glancing at Sandor, then around the room, Sansa thought about what that would mean for anyone who remained in the castle. Suddenly, with a deepening sense of dread, she realized what she must do. She worked to keep her voice steady. “No. Everyone should leave. Except me. I will stay here alone.”

She braced herself as everyone in the room made sounds of protest. 

Brienne’s voice was incredulous. “Alone, my lady? You can’t mean that.” 

Taking a breath, Sansa drew herself up. “Indeed I do. There is no point to evacuating if I go with you. Daenerys wants _me_ , and if I’m not here, she will hunt me down, won’t she? Then she will destroy everyone with me. If she finds me here, her revenge can be satisfied. Perhaps she won’t bother with everyone else.”

Brienne shook her head, still rejecting the idea. She turned to Bran. “Can we not make a defense against her?” 

Bran answered tonelessly, “There were at least a dozen scorpions aboard the ships that she destroyed, and more on the gates of King’s Landing. None touched her or her dragon. We have nothing like that.”

Sansa glanced at Sandor, whose expression was unreadable. It gave her a shred of hope. “Can you think of any other way we can fight it?”

He stared at her for a moment as if he hadn’t quite heard her, then shook his head. “We’ve only got archers, and they can’t do much against that beast. Swords and axes, maybe, but you’d have to get it to land – and dodge those flames.” Sandor didn’t look like he was too keen to try that.

Her vain hope crushed, Sansa shook her head, determined to be brave. “I don’t want anyone risking that. I’ve no wish to provoke the queen further. There will be no show of force against her. So then, whatever she wants to do with me, she shall do, and the rest of you, gods willing, will escape.” She looked first at Brienne, then Sandor. “If she destroys Winterfell, you will have to help the people find other places to live.”

“But my lady, you can’t seriously mean to send us all away? At least you must let me stand beside you.” Brienne seemed close to tears in her anguish at Sansa’s request.

“I am grateful that you would do so, but you would surely try to fight her or the dragon.” She looked into her sworn shield’s eyes. “Brienne, please. I mean to stay alone. Face her alone.”

Sam said gravely, “But she’ll…she’ll burn you.” Sansa turned to him and saw the anguish in his eyes as he recalled what happened to his father and brother.

There were murmurs around the room echoing Sam’s concern. 

Sansa’s stomach twisted, but she was determined to hold her resolve. None of these people needed to die for her mistake. “I know. But better she should burn only me than all of you.” 

Maester Wolkan said quietly, “My lady, I know you wish to protect your people, but no one would expect you to sacrifice yourself. We must all flee.”

Again there was agreement in the room.

Sansa shook her head, then looked again at Brienne and then Sandor. “I need you to protect Bran. Both of you. I am counting on you to lead the household to safety. Bran, you will be able to see where that might be, will you not?”

Bran nodded slowly.

Brienne stared at Bran. “My lord, are you really going to let your sister do this?”

The young man in the wheeled chair stared back at her mildly. “She is the lady of Winterfell. We must all obey her orders.”

Brienne glanced about the table severely, locking eyes with Sandor. Sansa knew that the two were for once in agreement. Neither Sandor nor Brienne wanted to leave Sansa alone at Winterfell. 

Sansa cleared her throat. “Thank you, Bran. Now, please, all of you, prepare the people to leave as quickly as possible.” 

The people were told of their lady’s orders. Many of them wept for her and some begged to stay with her so she’d not be alone, but she only thanked them for their loyalty and bid them be well and remember her.

And so they set out. Sansa watched them go from the ramparts, all the while watching for the shadow of the great beast that must be coming for her.

~~

Sandor had obeyed his lady – after all, hadn’t he sworn fealty to her when she’d asked him to be her Master-of-Arms? A Hound must obey his master, or mistress, in this case. But his dread of what would happen to the little bird grew with every step his horse took on the path leading away from Winterfell. He and the Tarth woman often exchanged looks, and he knew that she felt the same.

Finally, after a few hours of travel, Sandor could take no more. He said gruffly to Tarth, “I’m going back there. Won’t let her face it alone.”

Tarth looked back at him, her eyes widening. She glanced ahead at the group of castle folk and other small folk they protected, and Sandor knew that she thought of Sansa’s orders. Bran was among those fleeing, after all. The last thing that Sansa had said to Tarth was to protect her brother at all costs. Tarth was nothing if not one to honor her vows. “But we promised her–”

“Fuck promises. It’s a dragon.” 

Tarth made a slight nod, her lips pursed, her eyes still fixed at where Bran rode just ahead of them. “I know, but…”

“I said _I’m_ going back. You stay with him.” Sandor looked once more at the young lord riding ahead of him. He urged his horse forward to catch up with the boy. “I’m heading back there to stand by your sister. Tarth stays with you.”

Without looking at him, Bran said lightly, “As you say.” 

Befuddled as always at the boy’s seeming lack of concern, Sandor began to turn his horse. “Right, then.” 

“Clegane.” Bran’s tone remained unchanged.

Sandor twisted in the saddle. “Aye?”

“The head is the most vulnerable.”

Startled, Sandor stared. The boy seemed to be able to read his thoughts. 

As he righted himself in the saddle, Sandor caught the look of surprise in Tarth’s eyes. She gave him a curt nod. “Good luck.”

Wheeling the horse towards Winterfell, he spurred it to a gallop.

~~

Walking through the empty halls of Winterfell, Sansa made her way to the kitchen below the main hall. She had walked this way hundreds of times in her life, ever since she was a small child, following her mother around to learn her future duties. But never when there were no people. Now the halls echoed eerily, and it only grew worse as the sun had begun to set and the wind began to howl outside.

Arriving at the door to the kitchen, Sansa was suddenly struck by a memory from long ago when she’d agreed to play hide and seek with Arya on another cold, windy day. She’d seen Arya duck in here, despite being warned to stay out of the cook’s way. Sansa had been uncharacteristically competitive that day, so she had dashed in and run straight into the baker carrying a tray of cakes. The cakes had tumbled to the floor, the baker had shouted at her, and Sansa had felt terrible. She could still hear Arya’s giggles echoing from under the big table where she’d hidden. Their lady mother had scolded them, but only gently, and Sansa had thought her the most perfect mother in the world, and had vowed to be just like her when she was grown. 

Sighing at what she knew would never be, Sansa pressed on. Entering the kitchen, she was again struck by how strange it felt without the cook looking up to greet her and the other women nodding their welcome. But she shook off her momentary unease and put her mind to the task at hand. She went into the pantry and spotted the things that had been set aside for her. The baker had left a good supply of bread – more than she’d ever need alone – but she was grateful for it. 

Then she heard what sounded like a footstep in the hall. The postern gate had been left unbarred as it was too heavy for Sansa to lower on her own, but she’d thought it unlikely that anyone should venture near to Winterfell with a dragon on its way to destroy the castle. Yet looters could have come all the same.

She pulled out the dagger that Arya had given her, and tucked herself behind the pantry door. Holding her breath, she waited as the footsteps grew closer and then stopped just outside the door.

“Little bird?”

Sansa released the breath with great relief, stepping slowly from her hiding place.

Sandor came fully into the pantry as he saw her, her blade still drawn. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“No one was supposed to be here.”

“No. Couldn’t leave you alone.”

Sansa re-sheathed the dagger, trying to mask the fear that she knew must show on her face. She took a breath, and looked back at him. “I can’t say I’m not glad. I’d not considered how it strange it would be for the keep to be empty. I’ve never really been alone before.” 

Sandor grunted affirmation.

Shaking off her nerves, Sansa drew herself up. She was Lady of Winterfell, after all. “I was just gathering some things for supper. There’s not much – I sent most of it with all of you.”

“I won’t take your supper.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not very hungry – I’ve no stomach for much tonight. The cook’s left a chicken, and there’s good bread and cheese. And plenty of wine.”

“Your sister and I would have considered that a king’s feast on the road. And I’d have killed for some wine most nights.”

Sansa gave a short laugh. “Well, then, shall we take it to my solar? I’ve a fire lain, and we can mull the wine.”

Sandor gave a nod. “The wine is fine as it is, but a warm room would be welcome.”

“As is your company. Thank you for coming back. But you must promise to leave again in the morning.”

“I’ll make no promises.” His tone was brusque, his jaw firm.

Sansa stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether to insist or not. “Very well.”

~~

They ate mostly in silence, then sat staring into the fire, drinking their wine. Sansa drank more than she usually did, hoping that it would calm her nerves. 

After a time, Sandor said, “I don’t see things in the fire now.”

“Did you once?” Sansa was surprised. In all the conversations they’d had over the past weeks he’d said nothing of visions.

“Aye, when I was with Beric and Thoros. Saw the Wall. Strange.” He shook his head.

“I’d seen nothing of magic in the old days. Only heard the stories and songs. But now – giants, dragons, Bran’s visions, and the dead rising? The world is a mysterious and frightening place.”

“Aye, it is.” He nodded, his eyes understanding.

They fell into a companionable silence again, and Sansa thought about how much she had come to trust and respect him since he had come North. She had been able to thank him at last for the protection he had given her in King’s Landing, and for keeping her sister safe in the Riverlands during their travels. She had been impressed that he had traveled with Jon north of the Wall to capture a wight and had returned to the south and faced Cersei to present it. To hear Sandor tell it, he had done very little, but Jon had spoken well of him. And Sandor had fought as fiercely as any Northerner to defend Winterfell from the Army of the Dead – Arya herself had told the tale of how he had helped her escape a throng of wights bent on killing her.

So when the troops headed south, Sansa had asked him to remain behind as her Master-of-Arms, replacing the previous man who was killed in the battle. Sandor seemed hesitant – said he had some unfinished business in the capital. She suspected that involved his brother, and she had hoped he would prefer to stay here and not become a kinslayer, even if it would be in service of the new queen. But she had held her peace – just asked him to think about it – and was pleased that he had returned to her to accept her offer. 

In the weeks since then, she had made a point of speaking with him every day, ostensibly in his capacity as her Master-of-Arms and captain of the guard, since the majority of Winterfell’s troops were away with Jon. But after a time she found herself seeking his advice on other everyday matters. She wasn’t sure why she had been so drawn to him. Perhaps it was the new deferential way he spoke to her – he had never treated her with that kind of respect in King’s Landing. Or maybe it was the way that his eyes seemed to light up when she approached. Or simply that he seemed to understand her, for he too had suffered trauma.

They had shared the stories of the things that had happened to them since they had last seen each other in King’s Landing. Sansa had confessed to how frightened of him she used to be, and that she no longer felt that way, and Sandor had confided his great sense of failure in not being able to save her from all the evil that befell her. As the days went by, she had become more comfortable being with him, whether talking or not. With him, she could just be herself, not putting on any special courtesies. Somehow, they had become something akin to friends.

And as the evening wore on, Sansa found herself having almost tender feelings for him. It warmed her heart that he had come back for her – that he would risk facing dragonfire to keep her from being alone. Or was it the wine? Perhaps it was both. A yearning rose in her. 

She had been lonely all these months at Winterfell. Not that she had ever actually been alone until earlier this evening, and of course there was Brienne who had become a dear friend to her, but Sansa’s inner hunger for love had only grown in all the terrible years of loss and estrangement from her family. Though her childish fancies of true love and courtly romance had all been crushed, a basic need for tenderness remained. She was likely to die tomorrow and never have the chance to express that affection or fill that need again. 

Glancing over at Sandor, she realized that he had been staring at her as if he had read her thoughts. She flushed. 

But he just said, “Perhaps we ought to try to get some sleep.”

And she knew that this was her only chance.

~~

Sandor had been sitting across from Sansa enjoying the opportunity to just look at her without others seeing him. He realized that it might be the last time he would ever get to do so. In the past weeks here at Winterfell, he had been touched by how friendly she had been to him. Of course she was kind to everyone, but usually there was a formality about it. He came to recognize that this was her way of protecting herself, that the things she had suffered had caused her to put on a sort of armor to ward off the advances of other men as well as to engender respect from the castle folk.

But the few times they had been alone, Sansa had been open and even warm with him. Not an improper sort of warmth, for she was always proper. She had thanked him for keeping her sister safe, both in the Riverlands years ago, and recently during the battle. And she had thanked him for protecting her in King’s Landing so long ago, though he scoffed at that, ashamed that he had not done more. But she had assured him that she didn’t see it so, and she had seemed truly grateful that he had offered her a way out even if she had been too frightened to accept it.

Sandor had been impressed with how well Sansa managed things at Winterfell, both before the battle and after. During those bleak days since the Army of the Dead was defeated, as he saw her moving around the castle yard, looking in on the wounded in the maester’s hospital, supervising the rebuilding, or just talking to castle folk, encouraging them with gentle words and warm smiles, he came to realize that this was where he wanted to stay. Despite the continued pull in him to go south to kill Gregor, he had begun to think about offering to stay as part of the garrison here, and was surprised when Sansa asked him to be Master-of-Arms. He had done plenty of training of troops in the weeks before the battle, but he had not expected such an honor.

And now he was here, supping with her, keeping her company. He had been watching her face, enjoying the way the firelight glinted on her hair as she stared into the flames. He allowed his mind to wander, to imagine what could be if he were another sort of man, someone highborn, someone unscarred. How they might have a future together.

Then he had been brought back to reality with the thought that she would likely die tomorrow – that she had no future. And he likely would not either. He considered whether he could take her away, and _how_ he could, for he knew that she would refuse if he offered. He could certainly subdue her – tie her onto a horse and drag her away against her will. Or he could simply knock her over the head as he had done to her little sister at the Twins – but he knew could never bring himself to strike Sansa. He even considered making the excuse of using the privy and instead going to the maester’s chambers to see if he could find some dream wine to dose her wine with – then he could get her away without her resisting. But he knew that she’d hate that and be angry with him for putting the others at risk when she finally awakened. 

So he just sat and drank in her beauty along with the wine.

He had noticed that she looked on him more warmly than usual, but attributed it to her drinking more heavily than usual. Usually she was the most sober person in Winterfell, aside from the Tarth woman. But tonight she seemed relaxed, and even smiled at him a few times as she glanced his way. He amused himself thinking about what he would do if she ever asked him to be with her, then chastised himself for thinking it, knowing she would be shocked and even frightened by it.

And now, just as he had suggested that they get some sleep, she looked flushed, and he wondered if his face had betrayed his thoughts.

But she only nodded, turning her face away again, as if hiding something.

Sandor rose and made motions as if to leave the solar. “I’ll find a bed in the servants quarters.” He would not leave the keep for the garrison, not tonight.

He had already started towards the door when she said, almost so low that he wasn’t sure he heard her right, “Or…you could…stay.” 

“Stay…?” He turned back to her, his heart in his throat.

She looked hesitant and he knew that she was afraid. But then she took a breath and said firmly, “Yes…with me.” She gazed into his eyes. “In my room.”

He could scarcely believe it. He had surely heard wrong. “You mean to sleep? Or to guard your door?”

“Yes. No. To…I…” Her eyes dropped, and he thought she might change her mind and just tell him to go. But then she looked up again. “I would like to…be with someone who cares about me just once before I die.”

His heart beating like a drum in his chest, he nodded. “I’ll do anything you want.”

She smiled at him and it was like the Maiden herself was beckoning. Never mind that she was only doing this because she believed it was her last night to live. She was choosing him at this moment – she trusted him enough to suggest this. He wouldn’t refuse.

And so he followed her as she took up a candle and led him to her room.

~~

After Sansa had led him to her bedchamber, there had been an awkward few moments as they stood there, and Sandor had wondered how they would undress in front of each other. Finally, she had turned her back, and begun unlacing her dress. He had stepped forward, whispering, “Let me help,” and after a moment’s hesitation, she had allowed him to unlace her.

She had undressed down to her chemise, then climbed into bed without looking at him. He had followed her lead, stripping down to his small clothes, slipping into the bed cautiously, keeping his distance. 

And now here they were in bed together, facing each other, having nothing to say, and seeming to be afraid of each other. They had not touched again since they had gotten into bed, though Sandor seemed to feel her just from hearing her breathing so close to him. He had decided that he would leave it to her to make the first move, and had almost concluded that she was regretting her decision. And he couldn’t blame her – especially considering what had happened to her. It was enough that she faced the Dragon Queen tomorrow without facing this. But he could sleep beside her, reassure her, keep her from being alone in the dark with whatever grim thoughts she might be having.

Finally, Sandor said gently, “You don’t have to go through with it.”

She released a breath. “Lying with you, or facing the queen?”

“Both.”

“One is not like the other. Not with you.” She smiled softly at him, her face shining in the candlelight. 

He smiled back at her, glad that she didn’t equate lying with him as something as horrific as being burned, despite what she’d been through. 

“I want to. I just don’t know quite how to begin.” Her voice was small.

“I was leaving it to you…didn’t want to frighten you.”

“You don’t. Who would have thought that the fierce Hound could be so warm and tender?”

“I haven’t been the Hound for a long time. May I touch you?”

“Yes.”

Sandor touched her shoulder lightly, then let his hand run down her arm, slowly, gently. “You can touch me too, you know. You don’t have to ask.”

“I don’t really know what to do. I’ve never been with someone by choice.”

“Do whatever you like.”

Sansa reached out tentatively and touched his chest, running her palm across it from shoulder to shoulder. and Sandor felt a chill run through him to have her hand on him. But then she pulled it away, as if afraid of what she’d unleash. “You’re so broad – like two of me.”

Sandor chuckled. “Aye, but I’ll not hurt you – I won’t do anything you don’t want. And we can stop whenever you like.”

She gave him a tremulous smile and nodded.

When she’d touched him, Sandor’s own hand had frozen in place on Sansa’s arm. Now he let his hand glide slowly to her waist, and when she did not resist, he slid it to her hip. He rested it there, just watching her face in the dim light as she concentrated on reaching again to touch his chest, her fingertips burning him as she passed them from one side to the other. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”

She gazed up at his face and smiled warmly. 

It took his breath away. “Don’t you find me repugnant?”

“No, you’re lovely.” 

He looked at her quizzically. 

“Beauty is only a mask…I’ve learned that what is on the surface may only mask the ugliest of things. Any real beauty is always within. As yours is.”

Her eyes were so soft and her voice so sincere that a feeling of intense affection and desire rose in him. He wanted this woman – not just physically, but to bond with, to be part of. For someone like her to see past his hideous face.... He leaned towards her, watching her closely – she did not flinch or pull away – and he kissed her. 

She sighed as he pulled away, her face unreadable.

“Alright?”

“Yes, ‘tis nice.”

“Aye, it is.” And he kissed her again, running his hand along her side. Her body was still clothed in her chemise, but it was thin, and beneath it she was smooth and rounded, enticing, and yet seemed fragile, like a precious statue in the Great Sept that one was never supposed to touch. And still her eyes watched him, and did not warn him off. His hand reached her ankle and the edge of the chemise. He gently pulled on the hem and tucked his fingers under. “May I?”

He could see the hesitation in her eyes for a fleeting moment, but then she took a breath, as if gathering courage, and nodded.

Catching the hem under his fingertips, he gently slid the silken fabric up her leg and hip, dragging his palm along her soft skin. Encouraged by her sighs, he allowed his hand to linger and caress her hip, reveling in the feel of her bare skin under his.

He took his time as he ran his hand up, ever upward. Leaving the edge of the gown at her hip, he reached back to her ankle and slowly ran his hand all the way up in one long stroke, enjoying her shivering reaction. 

Then he ventured above her waist, just a bit, watching her eyes to see if it was alright. But she seemed to be enjoying it. He paused there with his hand poised, longing to stroke her breast, but decided it might be too soon, too bold. 

So he slid his hand around her waist to her back, intending to lay the flat of his hand there and draw her closer. But his fingers encountered twisted, raised flesh, much like the ruined side of his face.

He stopped, startled, and saw a shadow cross Sansa’s face. 

“Does it hurt?”

“A little – there are some places where it’s been very slow to heal. But don’t stop, please.” 

So he continued, and everywhere his hand went on her back there were more scars. He had known she had been brutalized, for though she carefully controlled the face she showed the castle folk, she had told him a little about it. But she had not told him the details. He laid his hand gently over the small of her back, not wanting her to think it made him not want her, and yet fighting to hold back his ire at the man who had done this. He pulled his hand back, unable to stop it from clenching into a fist.

But Sansa, touching his shoulder gently, whispered, “He’s long dead, remember? I killed him.”

Sandor nodded, taking deep breaths to push away the fury that rose up in him. All those years hating Gregor for what he had done and him getting away with it…but he was dead now too.

“Your caresses do more to erase him than your rage does.” And she stroked Sandor’s face as if to prove it.

He stayed frozen for a moment, then her words sunk in. He took another deep breath, bringing himself back to her. Relaxing his hand, he laid it gently across her back. As far as his hand could span, his fingers found rippled skin. “Oh, gods.”

Sansa murmured, “It’s alright.” And he grimaced at the irony of him being comforted by her as she moved his hand back to her side, where he found smooth skin. And she kept her hand with his as he explored the curve of her waist, the flatness of her belly, and then she slowly guided his hand near her breast. Then, as if testing herself, she drew it over her breast and pressed it there gently.

His breath caught and he looked into her eyes. They were inviting – the fear had melted away. He felt his anger bleeding away, and love and desire flooding in. _Your caresses do more to erase him..._

His lips found hers again, and so the night was swallowed by her sighs. 

~~

A pale morning light peeked through the shutters, waking Sansa. She was startled by two dark eyes staring intensely at her. She gasped, then relaxed as she realized it was Sandor, and she blushed to recall that she had spent the night with him. 

She had lain with him, despite her inner misgivings, and had not panicked, not drawn away. No doubt the urgency of what she faced in the morning had spurred her on, but all the same, she had discovered that she truly wanted to. She had stifled the ugly memories that threatened to overwhelm her, and found satisfaction and even hints of pleasure as they went on. 

And when she realized that she pleased Sandor too, all without pain, it gave her another sort of joy. A bittersweet reminder of what could be, if only there was time, if only they had a future. Determined to wrest what happiness she could from her last few hours, she had given herself over to Sandor’s tender ministrations and returned more of her own. 

And now, here she was lying next to him, naked as her name day, with him gazing at her. She smiled. 

He smiled back, but his eyes were troubled. “Let me take you away from here. If we leave now, we can get far enough away that she can’t find us.”

Sansa’s smile faded. “I wish I could – please don’t tempt me.” For it was indeed tempting. To gallop far, far away with him to somewhere safe – perhaps sail across the Narrow Sea to one of those exotic places that she’d read about in the stories. And yet…. “You’ve made me very happy this night. But nothing else has changed. Daenerys will still hunt them down – and she will be all the more vindictive towards them if she doesn’t find me. How could I live happily ever after if they were destroyed and I might have prevented it?”

Sandor sighed and nodded sadly. “I know.” He reached over to caress her cheek with his fingertips. “Who would have thought that the frightened little bird I knew so long ago would become the bravest of wolves.”

“Not so very brave…just determined to do the right thing.” She turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand. “Thank you for coming back to be with me.” She took his hand in hers, squeezed it, then gently put it from her and released it. “But now I should make myself ready.”

~~

They dressed in silence, facing away from each other, and Sansa thought again about how different things might have been if only….

But she was a Stark – she must be strong of heart. She finished dressing, forcing herself to focus on the laces and ties and the plaiting of her hair instead of what could never be. 

And when she turned to him at last, he was standing there watching her with such longing in his eyes that she could not help going to him for one last embrace. 

His arms enfolded her gently, and they stood there for a little while, as if an embrace could seal their fate together. Then he kissed her temple, and was gone.

~~

[](https://imgur.com/KZ3Bfi0)

_Photo by[ofhouseadama](https://ofhouseadama.tumblr.com//)_

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~
> 
> Next, Sansa faces Daenerys and Drogon. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated. I haven't posted anything in a while and any encouragement from readers will spur me on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa awaits Daenerys' arrival and must soon face her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thanks to Swimmingfox once again for her expert advice on...oops, spoilers! You'll see at the end. :)

~~

[](https://imgur.com/5rw2Cu6)  
_Photo lower right by[ofhouseadama](https://ofhouseadama.tumblr.com//). Thanks!_

~~

Sansa stood alone on the ramparts of Winterfell, waiting. A chill wind blew through her hair and made the fur on her cloak flutter, but Sansa scarcely noticed. Soon enough the Dragon Queen would be here to make her forget that she could ever be cold.

It had been several hours that Sansa had begun waiting for her fate. She stood on the ramparts for perhaps an hour at a time, retreated indoors for warmth multiple times, and had begun to wonder if perhaps the queen was not coming as soon as Bran had thought. She was inside near a window when she heard the distinctive sound of the dragon’s cry.

Taking a deep breath to gather courage, Sansa mounted the steps to return to the ramparts. Above she heard the dragon screech again, and then saw Drogon flying overhead. Sansa strode out to the rampart walk and stood in plain sight, her hands clasped at her waist.

The dragon now circled back around to the front of the gates. He swooped up and Sansa braced herself, thinking that Daenerys would order him to blast her while in flight. The huge beast flew so close that Sansa could feel the wind made by the beating of its wings. She trembled at what must now come. But he did not strike.

Instead, he landed right on the rampart wall with a resounding boom, and stretched his neck out to give a thunderous roar at Sansa. She winced and gritted her teeth, her entire body shaking, again waiting for the fire that must come.

But still it did not. The beast dropped his wing to form a sort of staircase. The queen stepped calmly down it, a placid expression on her face, as if this was merely a social visit. She wore a dark grey gown with a red sash, and her hair was blown and lacked the complicated braiding that she had worn when here before. 

When Daenerys reached the walkway, she gave an affectionate glance up at her dragon, then turned a cool gaze to Sansa. “You were expecting me.”

Dipping her head graciously, Sansa tried to control her voice as she replied. “Yes, Your Grace. Bran saw that you were coming.”

“But he does not receive me?” The queen glanced over the rampart to the courtyard. “You seem alone here.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I sent everyone away.”

“But you did not run yourself?”

Sansa’s eyes drifted to the creature behind Daenerys and saw that his eyes were fixed on her. “No. I did not see any reason why others should suffer for a decision I made.”

The queen studied Sansa’s face. “You seem very calm. You betrayed me – you plotted to undermine my claim to the Iron Throne. Do you not fear what I will do to you?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Sansa shivered involuntarily. “I don’t relish burning to death.”

“But you don’t plead for your life. Why not?”

Surprised, Sansa’s resolve broke, along with her voice. “Would…would it matter? Are you saying that you…you will spare me if I bend the knee properly? You would be able to forgive me?”

Daenerys considered Sansa for a few moments, her eyes flinty. “No.”

The spark of hope died in Sansa’s chest. She took a deep breath and said, “Then there is no point. I only pray that it will satisfy you, and that the people may live in peace afterwards.”

“Perhaps. We shall see.” The queen considered Sansa coldly, staring up at her. “Kneel.” 

Sansa sank to the ground, recalling how she knelt at the foot of the Iron Throne pleading with Joffrey to have mercy on her. How long ago it seemed. And how strange it seemed that then she wept at being beaten, whereas now she felt only a cold calm when she was about to burn hideously. She continued to pray that her deference would buy her people’s safety. 

When Sansa had obeyed, Daenerys said stonily, “Sansa Stark, you have betrayed your queen. I sentence you to death.” The queen stepped to one side to allow her dragon a clear path to Sansa. 

Sansa stared up into the great beast’s eyes, fearful and yet amazed at the intelligence in them. _Life is not a song_ , she thought. She tightened her hands in front of her waist, and closed her eyes. And heard Daenerys speak one word.

But just as the command left the queen’s lips, a great screech of agony came from the dragon. Sansa’s eyes flew open.

The queen gave a horrified scream and turned toward the great beast, which was writhing in torment from the huge axe that was in the middle of his forehead, just between his eyes. 

And perched on his neck was Sandor Clegane, struggling to keep his seat and detach the axe so he could make another blow. 

Again the queen cried, “Dracarys!” And the great beast reared back, nearly unseating Sandor, but somehow seemed unable to conjure flame. 

Sandor hung on, despite being tossed about relentlessly, his legs cut painfully by the dragon’s sharp, scaled points, and managed to pull out the axe and to swing it back to wind up for another fierce strike.

Once more he found his mark and the dragon’s head dipped and then thrashed wildly as he tried to escape his attacker. He very nearly hit his own mother in his desperation. Daenerys turned and darted back towards Sansa to avoid him.

Sansa had been frozen in shock, unable to believe what she was seeing. But suddenly, the queen came veering towards her, and Sansa’s hand found the hilt of her dagger. She drew it out, and scarcely thinking, plunged it into Daenerys’ chest. The queen gasped in surprise, clutching at her heart, her eyes wide in shock. She stared at Sansa unbelieving, and staggered forward, falling onto Sansa so that they both collapsed to the ground. Sansa scrambled back, pushing the queen away from her. They lay staring at each other for a moment. 

The dragon, equally enraged at the attack on his mother as he was at his own attacker, gave one last attempt to blaze fire at Sansa. And just then, Sandor made his third blow. Drogon’s eyes went dull, and his massive head lurched to one side, and Sandor was thrown against the rampart wall. The dragon, in his death throes, released a small burst of fire in Sandor’s direction before he reared up in an attempt to fly, faltered with a feeble screech, and dropped over the rampart wall. A huge thud caused the gatehouse to shake and then all was quiet.

The queen whispered “No!” fiercely, tried to rise, gurgled blood, then fell back and lay still. 

Sansa struggled to sit up, glancing about desperately to see where Sandor was.

He lay against the rampart wall, his clothes partially aflame. Sansa gasped at the sight and scrambled to her feet. She ran to him, thinking to try to beat out the flames with her cloak, but then realized there was snow and slush all around him. Reaching the rampart wall, she brushed a large drift of snow off onto Sandor, then dropping to her knees, she scooped up armfuls of slush to quench the last of the fire. 

Sandor was unconscious, his left side burned, blood oozing from his legs where the dragon’s spiky neck had cut him. It mixed with the slush and snow to create a pool of pink water all around them.

Sansa bent over him, trying to revive him, gently patting his face. “Sandor…oh please, Sandor.”

After a little while he stirred, groaning. “Is it dead?” He coughed. “Did I kill it?”

Sansa struggled back to her feet, cursing her sodden skirts, and hurried to look down over the wall. The great beast was on his back, completely still, blood streaming out from under his head, a bit of smoke wafting up from its nostrils. It must have fallen onto the axe that was buried in his skull. She stared for a moment, then returned to Sandor’s side. 

“It’s dead – you killed it.” 

A crooked smile flickered on his lips. “Did I, now? I’ve saved the fair maiden, have I?” He struggled for breath, croaking out, “Life might just be a song after all.”

Sansa nodded, tears running down her face. “Yes, Sandor. Thank you.” 

“And the queen?”

“She’s dead too. By my dagger.”

“Brave girl.” He tried to raise his good hand toward Sansa’s face, but groaned in pain and dropped his arm.

“Oh, Sandor, if only I hadn’t sent the maester away.” She touched him gingerly, wishing she could stop the pain.

“It’s too late for that, little bird. I can’t feel much. Just sit with me.” 

Sansa settled beside him, taking his hand, and sobbed, “You shouldn’t have to die this way.”

The edge of his mouth turned up in another broken smile, and he said roughly, “With a beautiful woman weeping over me? There are worse ways to go.” He took a ragged breath. “I’ve no regrets.”

Sansa squeezed his hand, sniffing.

“Do something for me, little bird.”

“Of course, anything.”

“I’ll have that song now – that foolish one.”

Sansa gave a sobbing laugh. “About Florian and Jonquil? Really?”

“Aye. And a smile. Let that be the last thing I see.”

She struggled to control herself to give him his last wish. She started singing, aware that her voice was shaky as she sang through her tears. But she drew inspiration from the knowledge that she faced the dragon queen without wavering, and her voice strengthened. She sang the song through, her voice strong and sweet, and saw his face quiver as he listened. 

As she finished, he gave a slight nod, and rasped, “Take my hand?”

She looked down to where his hand remained tightly clasped in hers, for she had not loosened her hold on him all the time she was singing. But she squeezed it more tightly, and whispered, “Yes, Sandor.” Realizing that he could not feel it, she put her other hand on his face, up by his cheek where he could still see, and she hoped he could still feel. 

He reacted again with the little half smile. “Ah, little bird…last night…I’ll dream of that…” 

“As will I, Sandor…” and she pressed his hand again. 

He murmured, “It’s growing dark, Sansa.” 

“I’m here, Sandor. I won’t leave you.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to his scarred cheek, saw that he made only little reaction, and she knew that he was leaving her. And she stayed by his side watching, singing the song again and again, long after his body had grown still and he’d stopped breathing. 

~~

Bran had given a command to halt the small company that was traveling north in the forest. Then he had asked to be placed under a tree and leaned back, his eyes going white.

He found a raven, and through him, could see that the queen was nearing Winterfell on her great black dragon. Bran watched as she landed him, dismounted, and spoke to Sansa. 

Bran observed Sandor silently stalking the dragon, carefully making his way to where the beast had ducked his head close to the ground. And Bran saw Sandor when he made his fateful leap to the dragon’s neck. 

And Bran leaped with him. 

Into Drogon’s head. It was the greatest effort Bran had ever made to control the mind of another, and he still wasn’t sure that he could succeed. He focused his thoughts: _Be still. Be still. Be still._

Bran felt the blow as it struck between his eyes. He tried to remain in the animal’s mind but Drogon was struggling so fiercely. It had done great harm – he could feel the dragon’s senses dull – but it was not enough. Bran fought again to regain control. He heard, as if through water, his mother screaming, and commanding him, _Dracarys!_ But he could not produce fire.

Again, the blade struck him. This time the blow numbed him such that he knew he was in danger of losing himself completely if the next blow was as strong. He braced himself, trying to control Drogon. 

Bran could feel Clegane wrestle with the dragon’s neck to keep his seat, then, his legs tightened powerfully around him and Bran knew that the next blow was likely to hit. He waited, sensing, and let go just as the dragon began to writhe and crumple to the ground, rider thrown, fire spewing forth.

He could not see what happened in the end, for he’d been thrown out of the dragon’s head just as Clegane was thrown. Bran struggled to see what had happened. _Did Clegane live? Did Sansa?_

At last he was able to find another raven and fly over Winterfell. There he saw the great beast lying dead below the ramparts in front of the gatehouse. And on the ramparts lay the queen, Clegane, and Sansa. None of them moved. He made the bird swoop down near them and caw loudly over and over, and finally his sister stirred, but did not rise. 

Jerking his eyes open, Bran called to those who sat about him watching. “We must go back to Winterfell. The queen and the dragon are dead, as is Clegane – and Sansa may be injured.”

Brienne gave a gasp. “I will ride ahead.” She looked at Bran for permission, he nodded, and in another moment she was mounting her horse and racing back to Winterfell.

~~

Brienne hastened back to Winterfell at a full gallop. She saw the great beast’s hulking body in a huge pool of blood blocking the main gates to Winterfell. Watching that it did not move, she circled around to the postern gate, and worked her way through the maze of buildings in the castle grounds to the main gate courtyard.

Racing up the stairs to where Bran had said her lady lay, Brienne burst through the doorway, breathing heavily at the effort, to see the ramparts strewn with rubble, including three bodies lying amid the slush and blood. She spotted the copper hair of Lady Sansa, her head lying against that of the burnt face of Sandor Clegane.

“My lady!” Brienne hurried to where she lay, kneeling beside her and shaking her shoulder gently to see if she could rouse her. “Lady Sansa!” 

At last Sansa stirred, moving very stiffly. “Brienne?”

“Yes, my lady.” Brienne silently thanked the gods that her lady lived. “Are you badly hurt?”

Turning to look up at her, her eyes in a daze, Sansa said, “I couldn’t move his body. I didn’t want him to be alone.” She spoke as if in a trance, then turned back and looked tenderly at the wrecked face of Clegane. 

“I understand, my lady. But we must get you inside – you’re chilled.” 

“He came back – he didn’t want me to be alone. So I kept vigil.” 

“I know my lady. Come now, please.” She gently put her arms around Sansa to lift her to a sitting position.

Sansa allowed Brienne to help her up. “He fought the dragon – to save me.” Slowly Sansa got her footing and leaned on Brienne.

“Yes, my lady. He slew him – ‘tis a miracle.” Brienne gave an admiring glance back at Clegane as she led her lady away. 

“We will bury him in the crypt. He has saved me and Winterfell.” Sansa’s voice was soft, but firm.

“And maybe the Seven Kingdoms,” Brienne said solemnly. She gazed over at the pale-haired corpse. “Who killed the queen?”

“I did.” Sansa’s hand shook as she raised it to demonstrate. “I pulled my dagger just as you and Arya taught me.”

“Well done, my lady.”

Brienne helped Sansa to her solar, where a fire was still burning low in the hearth. She pulled off her lady’s wet outer clothes, put warm furs around her, and placed her in a chair near the fire, then stirred up the fire until it was blazing. Then she came over and rubbed her lady’s hands. It was then that she noticed that there were burns on Sansa’s hands and arms. “You are hurt, my lady.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Brienne could see the sorrow in Lady Sansa’s eyes. She knew it all too well herself. Ever since Ser Jaime and Podrick had died in the battle against the Night King, she had herself been racked with sorrow. “I’ll fetch some bandages.”

Her lady just stared into the fire blankly.

~~

Life began at Winterfell again. The people had had been shocked and amazed to see the huge dragon blocking the gatehouse. It had lain there for weeks before the men had figured out a way to haul it away. They had heaped praise on Sansa for killing Daenerys, and had begun to call her the “DragonQueenslayer.”

Things in the south hadn’t been easy. Sam and the maester had sent ravens to Jon and Tyrion and all the major houses of Westeros to inform them of the demise of Queen Daenerys and her dragon. Tyrion immediately advised the others of Jon’s true heritage, and convinced Grey Worm and Qhono that the queen would have wanted Jon to rule – that while she had lost her way, he would carry out the dream she had of “breaking the wheel” and making a Westeros that all could live in. After careful negotiations, Grey Worm and Qhono had brokered an agreement with the Westerosi. The Unsullied and Dothraki would return home to Essos with ships and trade goods to make a new life there. 

Meanwhile, Tyrion had had to convince Jon that he was meant for the throne. Jon had been aggrieved and reluctant, but the people in the refugee camps had clamored for him to rule, and his Northern troops had never stopped calling him king. And then there had been the ravens from all the major houses of Westeros calling for him to take the throne. Sam, on Bran’s advice, had written to Howland Reed and the Citadel for verification of Jon’s identity, and the ravens from those sources, along with testimonials of Jon’s leadership from Sam and Lord Royce, had convinced all the houses of Westeros to support Jon. So, his heart heavy, with Arya by his side, and Tyrion as his Hand, Jon accepted rule.

But not the Iron Throne itself. Jon ordered it destroyed, for he believed it had corrupted Daenerys and caused her demise. He had Gendry melt it down and use the metal to forge into the foundations needed to begin the work of rebuilding the city. Jon held court as his father had in the North, sitting in a chair of no greater majesty than that of the high seat in Winterfell’s great hall.

~~

Sansa had been melancholy, missing her brother and sister, and wondering how it was for them to rule. And lately she had been feeling a little ill, and though she had assured Brienne that it was a minor thing, Brienne had convinced her to consult the maester. 

Maester Wolkan asked Sansa a barrage of questions, and she answered honestly. He chided her for not eating very well of late, then fell silent, pondering the causes. Brienne, whom Sansa had asked to stay in the room, looked at the man with impatience.

Finally Sansa offered the most important piece of information. “I haven’t had my moon blood in nearly two moons.”

The maester looked uncomfortable, then sputtered, “well, there could be a number of reasons for that…”

“I think we all know what is most likely to have caused it.”

“But you’ve not–”

“I have.”

The maester looked startled. He glanced nervously at Brienne, who seemed just as stunned as he was. But he swallowed his curiosity, and continued his inquiry about her condition. “I see. Well, how long ago was this?”

“It was that night I spent alone. Sandor Clegane came back for me.”

“He took advantage of you.” Brienne’s voice was indignant.

“No, Brienne,” Sansa assured her, with a breath of a laugh. “No, far from it. If anything, I took advantage of him.”

Brienne’s nostrils flared. “I hardly think that likely.”

“Brienne…I keep wondering if he would have done what he did – taken such a risk with the dragon – if we hadn’t spent that night together. Would he have left in the morning as I’d insisted he do if we had not?”

The maester and Brienne exchanged glances. 

“I knew he had some fondness for me – and I took the opportunity of spending one night with a caring man before I died. So we passed that bitter night together. He was very kind and gentle with me.” Sansa tried to force back the tears, and stifled a sob. “I was supposed to die in the morning – but he died instead.”

Maester Wolkan seemed close to tears himself, and Brienne looked stricken, but she took a breath and spoke firmly. “I believe it was his intent to try to save you when he left us on the road. There was something in his eyes.”

Nodding, Sansa looked at them both sadly. “You will think me a light woman. Perhaps all the people will think so.”

“They will have me to contend with if they dare say a word against you.” Brienne said fiercely.

Sansa smiled somberly. “Thank you, Brienne.”

The maester cleared his throat. “I think they will say nothing of the sort. This will be a celebrated child. The child of the Dragonslayer and the DragonQueenslayer? He – or she – will one day rule the North after you, my lady.”

Brienne nodded in agreement.

Sansa thought of how Sandor would have reacted to this news. She could just about hear his voice mocking it all, _Dragonslayer? Ha! Life is not a song._

~~

Spring came and with it, a very large baby girl with Sandor’s dark hair and steel grey eyes. Sansa named her Sandora Clegane Stark, and vowed that Brienne and Arya would train her to be a fighter like them and like her father. Sansa was heartened to see her child grow more like Sandor each day. She would raise her up to be strong and brave and gentle.

People came from miles around to bring flowers and gifts and to wish the Dragonslayer’s child well. No one ever made one comment slandering Sansa or Sandora, or if they did, it never reached Sansa’s ears.

One afternoon, a servant came to tell Sansa that a troupe of traveling singers had come and wished to sing for her. It was a rare thing for singers to travel so far north, so Sansa invited her retainers and other castle folk to come into the hall to hear them. 

Settling her little daughter on her lap, Sansa leaned back in her chair to enjoy the music. The main singer, strumming her lute, sang a plaintive song in a clear, sweet voice about the battle in the North, chronicling the events of the fight against the Army of the Dead. Sansa was pleased that it included the heroic deeds of those she knew, particularly her brother and sister. It warmed her heart to know that there were songs being sung about events in her lifetime, and that they were complimentary, not scornful, of her family.

The singer sang a few others, mostly about the beauties of the North, and then began a solemn ballad with a striking drumbeat. And Sansa was startled to hear the singer describe the deeds that Sandor and she had done the day that Queen Daenerys had come to destroy Winterfell. 

It was called “The Dragonslayer.”

~~

The Dragonslayer (sung to the tune of Jenny of Oldstones, with a variation in which the last line of each verse repeats twice)

On a night so dark and evil and cold  
The Dragon Queen did declare  
That Sansa Stark of the North was to burn  
And Winterfell did despair 

Winterfell did despair  
And Winterfell did despair

The Dragon Queen on her great Drogon  
Raging and railing she flew  
Through day and night and then day again  
Determined in what she would do

Determined in what she would do  
Determined in what she would do

But good Lady Sansa, stark and true  
Thought nothing of herself  
She sent away her castle folk  
And awaited her fate by herself 

She awaited her fate by herself  
Awaited her fate by herself

And to Winterfell the dragon arrived  
Breathing a fiery path  
Lady Sansa stood on the wall without fear  
To face Queen Daenerys’ wrath

To face Queen Daenerys’ wrath  
To face Queen Daenerys’ wrath

The dragon flew all around the Great Keep  
And the walls of Winterfell  
Brave Lady Sansa was ready to die  
For the Queen to sound her death knell

For the Queen to sound her death knell  
For the Queen to sound her death knell

The dragon perched with a thunderous roar  
The queen descended to give her curse  
She sentenced Lady Sansa to death  
And called the dragon to do his worst

Called the dragon to do his worst  
Called the dragon to do his worst

And as Lady Sansa expected to die  
A fearful screech was heard  
For Sandor Clegane had come to her aid  
And attacked without a word

He attacked without a word  
Attacked without a word

Upon the dragon’s neck he did leap  
With his great battleaxe in hand  
Like Hobb the Hewer reborn he did fight  
And a mighty blow he did land

A mighty blow he did land  
A mighty blow he did land

While Sandor Clegane fought the creature fierce  
Lady Sansa did not run away  
Her dagger from her belt she did draw  
And the Dragon Queen she did slay

The Dragon Queen she did slay  
Dragon Queen she did slay

Still atop the dragon he rode  
Sandor knew what he must do  
A powerful stroke and another he made  
With the third the dragon he slew

With the third the dragon he slew  
With the third the dragon he slew

Three blows to kill the mighty beast  
And down the monster fell  
Sandor the Dragonslayer won  
To save his Lady of Winterfell

His Lady of Winterfell  
Lady of Winterfell

But alas, upon the very third strike  
Sandor flew from the dragon’s head  
And upon the ramparts he fell and was burned  
Before the beast was dead

Before the beast was dead  
Before the beast was dead

Lady Sansa rushed to his side and she wept  
To see her valiant knight stricken so  
She sang her love as his blood was spent  
On the ramparts in the snow

On the ramparts in the snow  
On the ramparts in the snow

And though the brave Dragonslayer is gone  
His proud legacy still lives  
For in Winterfell his fair daughter was born  
And to the North new hope she gives

To the North new hope she gives  
The North new hope she gives 

To the North new hope she gives  
The North new hope she gives

~~

[](https://imgur.com/IMoeKMw)

_Image by @eca_jt, posted[here](https://www.reddit.com/r/freefolk/comments/776c5r/princess_lyanna_stark_of_winterfell_when_sansa/) and she can be found on tumblr [here](https://tiny-little-bird.tumblr.com/). Thanks!_

_~~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for all the death and mayhem; I hope it wasn’t too disturbing. I did not like Sandor’s end in the show, and thought that if he had to die by fire, at least he should have been shown to have faced his fear and overcome it, and to have done so for a good reason. His death just seemed so unnecessary in the show. 
> 
> When this story first came to me, I wondered whether a solitary man could kill a dragon in ASOIAF lore. And sure enough, there are stories of how it could be done. But I was particularly interested in whether a man with an axe could do it, so was happy to find this story of Hobb the Hewer. It is from GRRM’s story, "The Princess and the Queen" and is quoted [here.](https://scifi.stackexchange.com/questions/59831/in-game-of-thrones-can-a-dragon-be-killed)
> 
> “…Shrykos was the first dragon to succumb, slain by a woodsman known as Hobb the Hewer, who leapt onto her neck, driving his axe down into the beast’s skull as Shrykos roared and twisted, trying to throw him off. Seven blows did Hobb deliver with his legs locked round the dragon’s neck, and each time his axe came down he roared out the name of one of the Seven. It was the seventh blow, the Stranger’s blow, that slew the dragon, crashing through scale and bones into the beast’s brain.”
> 
> I supposed that with Bran involved it might be possible for Sandor to slay the dragon more easily, and of course, had Drogon’s fall finish him off.
> 
> Your comments are very greatly appreciated!


End file.
